by Kathy Love
She moaned, the sound vibrating between their lips. Then his mouth was gone. In fact, he broke all contact, his hand moving away from her cheek, his fingers releasing hers.
No, her body cried out. She didn’t want to stop. Never had anything felt that perfect, that right. But instead of voicing her protest, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Christian stood a few inches from her, his gaze not on her, but on the ground. His artfully messy hair shielded his face, making it impossible to see his reaction. Was he upset? Did he regret kissing her? Or was he as shaken by the perfection of the touch as she was?
“Christian?”
He stared at the ground a second more, and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed as though he was forcibly calming himself. Finally he raised his head. His eyes looked even more intense than usual and a little wild. The pallor of his skin was deathly pale, and his cheekbones and jawline appeared more pronounced.
“Are you all right?” she asked, taking a step toward him.
He looked away again.
“I have to go,” he said. His voice sounded rough and deep, all his smoothly accented words gone.
“What’s wrong?” She started to reach for him, but he jerked back as if her slightest touch would burn him.
“I can’t talk now.” He stumbled backward toward his trailer, all his usual grace gone.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
She nodded, although she wanted to follow him and demand to know what was wrong. Really wrong. How could he go from kissing her so gently to looking like a half-crazed maniac?
He spun and bounded up his stairs, closing the door with a sharp bang behind him. She stayed in the middle of the road, dazed. What had just happened? She considered his paleness, his wild eyes, his sudden anxiety. She’d seen all those behaviors before.
No, she didn’t want to go there. Especially not after he’d just given her the best kiss of her life. Not after she’d just reacted to him like she had no other man. But she’d known right along something had to be wrong with Christian. Very wrong for him to be here in Shady Fork. And she did know what those kinds of symptoms— paleness, acting crazy, and anxiety— meant. Vance had looked just the same way the other night.
She’d been stupid to forget. He might be beautiful. And often quite gallant. And very possibly the best kisser in the world. She also knew she’d been right about him. He had a problem. She just hadn’t known exactly what the problem was. Her chest tightened and her throat felt like she couldn’t pull in enough air as the truth hit her. And she absolutely knew what a drug problem looked like.
*
Christian paced back and forth in front of the window, his agitated movements hidden from her by the darkness of his trailer and sheer curtains. She remained in the road, staring at his trailer, bewilderment clear in her dark eyes. He continued to pace, trying to calm the need raging in him. Willing her to go into her trailer and take temptation out of his sight.
She finally climbed her steps and disappeared inside. But her absence didn’t lessen his yearning. He ached with it, every muscle in him tense and throbbing. Why had he kissed her? He hadn’t even realized his own purpose until his mouth was pressed to her lush, wide lips.
Since crossing over, he’d never had the inclination to kiss a mortal. He’d always believed vampires who seduced their victims by using kisses and caresses to be masochistic fools. Why bother to seduce, when he could just take what he wanted? So much more efficient.
Or were those Lilah’s beliefs, and he just followed them without question because that was what he did? Good little lackey that he was.
Lilah believed that a vampire should only find sexual satisfaction with other vampires. They were superior to mortals by the virtue of their strength, abilities, and wisdom. They should not defile themselves by mating with a creature that was lesser. He’d believed her, not only because he did consider himself above mere mortals, which he had, but because that belief meant that she was his and his alone. She might have gone to others to feed, but she derived no real sexual pleasure from the experience; her love was his alone. Of course, that had been yet another falsehood he’d believed because he’d wanted to.
He spun again to stalk back across the room. His cock pulsed, rigid, insistent. His need and uneasiness weren’t lessening. The memory of Jolee’s soft, velvety lips against his, responding to him, caressing him in return, played vividly through his mind, over and over.
He couldn’t recall a kiss ever being like that. Breathtaking pleasure created by the mere touching of mouths. Lilah only used her kisses as an enticement or a lure to get what she wanted. Kisses given with no warmth or gentleness, only manipulation and domination. At the time, Christian had found her calculating teases to be captivating. Now he couldn’t recall why.
Jolee’s sweet response and gentle surrender was infinitely more thrilling. A kiss accepted and returned purely out of enjoyment. He’d never experienced anything so magnificent. Her scent and heat clung to him, still brilliant and warm. Desire vibrated through him. He bit his lip, expecting his fangs to pierce it. They didn’t. Instead, his cock pulsed against the restraint of his zipper.
He growled, disgusted with himself. What the hell was going on with him? He should be able to control the desire. With the hunger fed, he shouldn’t have any reaction like this.
He went to the fridge and took out his last packet of blood. His meal for tomorrow night. He went to the drawer and grabbed a straw, stabbing the plastic. Blood rose up in the white tube, then drained back down. His cock seemed to mimic the action.
He drank, draining the small bag in mere moments. He waited. Waited for the blood to hit his system and calm him. But it didn’t. His cock still strained, his body still ached.
“Shit!”
Something wasn’t right. Had he rationed himself too long? That had to be it. If he was going to be around Jolee, he had to satisfy this need. He couldn’t lose control and kiss her again. He couldn’t have her thinking that he was interested in her in a romantic way. That was way beyond his knowledge. Even having a friendship with her was going to be a stretch. He hadn’t exactly had much practice on that front.
But he was going to be her friend. She needed him, and in truth he needed her. Aside from the occasional erections, he had done all right being pseudo-human. If he fed more, he’d have total control again.
He had to find a solution to his attraction problem tonight. He considered going back to Mark and trying to feed from him. But he didn’t think he could. Even if his body cooperated, the smell and greasiness of the man would be enough to nauseate him. He considered the sheep, but that was just too disturbing to be contemplated for more than a split second.
That left the hospital. He needed more blood. Drinking larger amounts didn’t mean he’d destroyed his plan. After all, a bag wasn’t alive. That was why he’d turned to the pouch in the first place. And just to prove he’d become a kinder and gentler vampire, he’d always taken the expired bags. And to think he’d once sent back wine for poor vintage. Now he was searching for the day-old blood. But he had to do what he had to do, and he couldn’t risk acting unpredictably around Jolee, or worse, frightening her.
He needed more.
With that decision made, he waited for the hunger to flare again as it always did in the anticipation of being satisfied. Yearning still prodded him, but he didn’t feel the great eagerness he’d expected. In fact he felt more drawn to see Jolee again than to feed. The rationing had affected his reactions as well as his preternatural abilities. That would explain the kiss. He’d been ravenous for Jolee, but because he couldn’t feed from her, he’d… kissed her?
The explanation seemed a little far-fetched, but it was the only one he could find. He liked Jolee, that alone was a huge oddity, but to be attracted to her?
No, his reaction to her touch, to her lips, that was the hunger. And he planned to satisfy that. Tonight. Then he wouldn’t see her as anythi
ng other than a nice mortal.
He grabbed his car keys. He really hoped the clerk with the squeaky white shoes and clipboard had been a blood donor.
CHAPTER 10
Was she ever going to have a night when she didn’t come to work obsessing about something? Jolee finished putting the change in the register, washed her hands, and then started filling metal buckets with peanuts from a large plastic tub under the bar. But the task didn’t get her overactive mind off her current fixation.
Christian’s kiss.
Why had he kissed her? And why had she allowed herself to react? She’d known, from the moment she moved into her trailer, he had to be in some sort of trouble. The car, the clothes, all of it screamed something wasn’t right. But last night, she’d let herself forget. All because of a pretty face and a few good deeds. And a kiss.
She sighed. God, that kiss.
See, that was why she was in this mess. But she wasn’t even going to ask him about the kiss when she saw him again, because they had to discuss something more important. His addiction. If he was an addict, he needed friends. She believed that. But he needed help more. She was willing to do what she could. Although she knew from Vance that she couldn’t help him unless he wanted it.
Last night, as she hadn’t been able to sleep, she realized what the list was on his fridge. A twelve-step program. She hadn’t put that together at the time. She didn’t understand why he titled it “Being Human.” But she did know that was what it was.
So he seemed to already want help. And she would offer any help she could. But she wasn’t going to be involved with him in a romantic way.
Involved with him. She didn’t even know if that was what the kiss meant. It could have been simply a kiss designed to show her she was an attractive woman.
She paused, a fistful of peanuts forgotten in her hand. How would he kiss if he was actually into her? Her poor heart couldn’t handle even the thought.
She blinked, frowned at the peanuts, then dropped them in the bucket. Hadn’t she just told herself she wasn’t going to get involved? No more thinking about kisses. She picked up the tray now loaded with filled buckets and started distributing them to the tables. Glancing at the door, she wondered if it was going to be another busy night.
Then she wondered if Christian would stop by. She told herself it was best if he didn’t, but that didn’t stop her from hoping he would. She couldn’t talk to him here, but at least she could see how he looked and how he acted.
The back door opened, causing Jolee to jump.
“Sorry,” Jed rasped. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She smiled. “You caught me daydreaming.”
Jed gave her a knowing smile as though he knew exactly who she was daydreaming about, then he headed to his usual barstool.
“How’s the arm?”
“Much better,” she told him. It was still stiff, but overall, she felt pretty good.
She glanced at her watch. It was five, and she crossed to flip on the «Open» sign and unlock the front door. She opened this early for the happy hour crowd, which she hadn’t actually gotten yet. But she was ever hopeful. Then she went around putting up all the windows. It was a warm evening, and she didn’t have air conditioning. Well, she did, but that was on the fritz when she bought the place. Another expense to deal with, later.
“Well, let’s hope tonight is like last night,” she said, going to the bar to pour Jed a beer and herself a glass of ice water. She took a long sip, then sighed.
Then she looked at the closed door.
By 8:30 P.M., Jolee was starting to consider two possibilities. The bar wasn’t going to be as busy as last night, not even close. And she was starting to doubt whether Christian would stop by. Maybe he was embarrassed to see her. Maybe he was unwell. She tried to tell herself his absence was just as well. Herself didn’t buy it.
She filled a mug for Dale, one of her half a dozen or so patrons, and strolled down the bar to place the beer in front of him.
“Slow night,” he commented.
“Yep, should have been here last night. It was hopping.”
“Well, it’s early yet.”
She nodded. It was Friday night; it should be much busier than a Thursday night.
With everyone set with drinks, she left the bar to wander to the jukebox. She sighed, dropped a quarter from her apron in the slot, and then punched in «Sundown» by Gordon Lightfoot. The tune seemed appropriate as she watched the light fade to black outside the window. She meandered back to the bar, taking a seat next to Jed. Well, this wasn’t the first long, profitless night they’d shared, and she guessed it wouldn’t be the last. She’d been too quick to hope the bar’s business was changing.
Just like she’d been too quick to be attracted to Christian. She didn’t think she was a reckless person. As she glanced at her dead bar, and longed to see someone who was probably very bad news, she decided she might be misjudging herself. She glanced over to the booth where the karaoke waited silently. She had a huge selection of songs, and even without people to sing them, the music would be a nice change from the jukebox. She’d heard every song on that old machine at least twenty times.
She slid off her barstool and walked over to the booth. The sound system was elaborate, with three different CD players and knobs and buttons that ran the monitors and speakers. She pushed the «on» switch and the system hummed to life. She then flipped through the books of CDs. Country, rock, disco, even gospel. You name it, she had it.
Well, nothing released within the past six months, because she didn’t have the funds to keep the lists updated, but still hundreds of choices. She picked out one, a Neil Diamond classic, and more importantly, a song she didn’t have on her jukebox. She put the CD in and pressed the play button, then adjusted the volume. “Crackling Rosie” began, upbeat and fun. The lyrics appeared up on the screens, clear and crisp. The few patrons turned from the bar to look at her and then to the screens. Reading along.
She smiled at everyone and shrugged. “Just thought I’d see how it’s working.”
The bar was slow enough that she could probably run back and forth to play songs and serve drinks. At least it would keep her mind occupied. She was tired of her thoughts tonight. She fixed the microphone, attaching it to the stand beside her in the booth. And she plugged the socket into an outlet marked «microphone» with red labeling tape.
The microphone shrieked to life, the deafening, high-pitched noise making her and everyone else jump. Jolee quickly brought it out of the booth away from the other equipment.
“Sorry.” She winced as she placed the stand on the stage.
The Neil Diamond song ended, and she picked another. An old country song she remembered from her childhood, also not on the jukebox. Then she went back to the bar, taking three of the karaoke songbooks with her.
She placed one near Dale and another farther down the bar.
Then she walked over to another of her regulars, an odd little man who came to have his pitcher of beer every Friday and Saturday night. He never spoke, except to place his order, then he sat in the corner, watching the other patrons. She put a book on his table.
“If you feel the urge to sing a little something,” she explained.
He just stared at her with his slightly bulging dark eyes. Then he nodded, and that was the end of the conversation. She smiled to herself as she walked away. He might be odd, but he was loyal.
She checked drinks, and then went back to put on another song. The songs did sound a little strange, since they were just the music without the main vocals, but she didn’t mind and neither did the patrons. They read along with the lyrics, and looked content to do so. The music certainly lifted her spirits. She wasn’t achieving quite the atmosphere she wanted, but it was closer.
“Do you sing?” Dale asked as she came by to check his beer.
She hesitated. Wasn’t that why she’d wanted this particular bar? Wasn’t it her way of fulfilling a dream that was too far out of her
reach?
“I do,” she admitted, though it was difficult. She loved to sing, but she still heard the voices from the past telling her she wasn’t good enough.
“Sing us something, Jolee girl. You should be the first one to break that contraption back in.” Jed nodded for her to go on up.
Her gaze roamed from one customer to the next. They all watched her with encouragement in their eyes, even the odd, quiet man at his table in the corner.
She smiled nervously, but went back to the booth.
What did a person sing for the very first song in her own bar? She flipped through the CDs, nothing jumping out at her. Then she saw a song. Not necessarily a song she’d normally pick, although she knew it well and liked it. And the lyrics seemed to fit how she felt tonight.
She slid the CD out of the plastic sleeve. “The Game of Love” by Santana, featuring Michelle Branch. Maybe not the classic she thought she’d sing, but why not? Maybe it would be therapeutic in some way.
A song about a woman’s confusion with love, and how one situation with her man leads to another more complicated situation. Very appropriate, given every time she and Christian were together the relationship seemed to change and become something very different than either of them planned.
She placed the CD in the player, then left the security of the booth to stand before the small group at the microphone stand.
She breathed in, trying to calm her nerves. This was what she’d hoped to do from time to time as she ran the place. She loved to sing.
The intro started and her fingers shook as she held the mic. The words appeared on the monitor. She glanced at the customers in front of her, then she started, her voice warbling on the first lyrics.
The music was upbeat with Carlos Santana’s distinctive guitar rifts. She liked the beat and eventually she was lost in the music, rather than her nerves. By the first chorus, her voice rang out with more strength and confidence.
